Kissed By Fire
by Ruffy22
Summary: It's a story about an 18 year old man you has the equivalent fire power as Elsa. They meet and shit goes down
1. Prologue

Prologue

Hi, my name is Arys. I'm the fourth son of a blacksmith living in Weasel-Town, under the protection of the dying president, Doran. My brothers are all better smiths than me and my father as well, but, as is tradition in my family, the males must take a trip for 2 years at the age of 18, leaving home with nothing but light leather armour a sword and a bow.

The one advantage of being the blacksmiths son is that we've grown up around swords and weapons and we have enough skill to use them. I can beat each of my three older brothers, Meryn, Boros and Jaime, along with my father, Barristan. I'm 6 foot 1, with blue eyes and brown hair and a lean body, due to working in the forge. Me and my friend Pyp are going to set out on our journey to Arandel but there we'll split of and go different ways. This is where the real story begins...

I left the town accompanied by Pyp, strolling out through the main gate without a care in the world. My sword was the finest steel and my skills were as sharp as the blade itself. My companions shooting was a bow was second to none and he had been know to be able to fire 3 arrows before the first one hit the target. Heads held high we started off down the gravel track into the forest. There had been reports of Press Gangs being formed to conscript men for an army, but none of it was true and neither of us cared. Pyp started to ask questions to pass the time.

"What are you going to do in Arundel?"

"Enter the melee, challenge knights to duels and then move on."

"No attempts to seek an audience with the queen? So you people with super powers can have a nice meet up?"

"Nah, though I might get to if I win the melee"

"That's your grand plan, take on thirty men in a fight, all on all, and hope that you win. Solid plan"

"Thanks" I replied, the sarcasm very thickly coating the words. "Stop, move into those bushes over there."

"Why?"

"I just saw 5 members of one of the presidents press gang. They'll be looking for new recruits, as always."

We hurried over, advancing slowly and quietly, hoping to have moved around them so we could continue in our journey to Arundel. As we got closer we started to here grunts of pain, as if someone was being beaten. Which, in fact, they were. We ended up crouched less than 10 metres away, looking him dead in the face, blood running down to his chin and dripping on the floor. His shirt was torn and dirty, hanging off him like a loose rag. I turned to Pyp, and seeing his eyes were filled with rage I knew we had the same idea. We charged forward simultaneously, attempting to catch the three guards unaware and off balance. We succeeded, with me slashing left and right, disarming two, whilst Pyp was in close against the third we were just helping the man beside us back to his feet when arrows started to whizz past us, burying themselves in tree trunks, the ground and the man we were helping. I turned to run and shouted for Pyp. I heard no reply, and turned to see him with an arrow through his thigh. As if by magic, another three sprouted from his chest and he collapsed, falling face down in the gravel and sand and blood. My eyes filled with hatred and I turned towards his killer charging blindly as I hoped to slay him. He fired once, twice and missed both. The third found my right arm, between my elbow and my shoulder yet still I kept going. 5 metres, 3 metres, 2, 1, and I was on him slashing down left right. I feinted low and brought a looping overhead back down on him. He was sliced shoulder to sternum, and he slid to my feet with a sickening squelch. My anger was quickly replaced by horror as I realised that was the first time I had killed a man.

I didn't hear the remaining member of the gang sneaking up behind me with a rock, though I felt it impact my head, so I welcomed the on rushing cold wet floor.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

-1 year later-

I woke to begin another day of training. The presidents son, Quentyn, drilled us like a court martial. I had been selected within my first week after being press ganged for this special elitist group of 20 warriors. All of us could've been world class assassins, warriors, soldiers, anything. We all could use swords, bows, throwing knives, and one special thing. My single special thing was Black Fire. I could create and manipulate fire to my will. I am also the best with a sword and a bow, and my only friend Areo was the most skilled with his knives.

He shared my cell, because that's what it is. In our little room which has a door that locks from the outside at night we have all our worldly possessions, my sword and Pyp's bow, Areo's giant axe which I know from experience if a fearsome thing to fight against. Our training has mostly consisted of blood and dirt, with neither of us being local to this place. We have no idea of where we are, but we're pretty sure of what we are being trained for. Over the past few months 7 of the princes of the southern isles have fallen to our little groups hands, with myself having the pleasure of killing 2. We are assassins. To add to our training we must kill all the runaways from the lower army. In single combat, with whatever weapon is given to us. They must die and they always do, in the end. They have no training, no experience.

We have heard snippets of conversations about why we are needed. Doran is all but dead, and Prince Quentyn believes it is Elsa's fault. So we are killing everyone they knew in an attempt to avenge him, with a final assault on Arundel to begin soon. Only one other is working with us. Hans. He wants all his brothers dead along with everyone and everything in Arundel burned.

We had begun our riding section when Areo said something out of the blue.

"When we get our next assignments, we need to run." It was what everyone wanted, but no one had dared to say for fear of the Cat o'nine tails. It's fearsome slash had branded all of us many a time. I had thought through all the arguments for and against, with freedom being desired so strongly as the main driving force.

"Areo, you know we can't."

"We could give them the slip, Arys, you know we could."

"And what then? The other 18 assassins come looking for us, find us and kill us"

"Not if we kill them first."

"And when do we do that? We can't slip into their rooms and slit their throats and we can't kill them in training either"

"It's coming up to 2 years since Arundel was freed from that mysterious winter thing, and they're having a huge celebration"

"So?"

"They'll have a melee and from that we can get enough money to get away on"

"But in the melee there will be some of our company, trying to cross us off for deserting"

"We would win"

"But would we? I mean two against at least eight aren't exactly good odds, especially when the other other eight are all exceptional assassins"

"I would prefer to take our chances against them, rather than the combined forces of Arundel and its allies."

"Ok, so if we get out of here, we would still have 100 leagues or more to cross before we would reach Arundel, where we would be tracked by master hunters."

"Yes but…"

"But I guess we would've had to escape past all of the guards before hand, which in itself would prove our endless skill."

"But better to die a freedman than live as a slave!" That sudden outburst had caught me completely off guard. From the little I knew of Areo's past, I knew that his tribes and family values their freedom and fierce independence above all except the ability to fight. Such passion is what I really should of expected. The power of that argument hit me too. Pyp had died as a freeman, albeit with a clenched expression on his face. He had been laid to rest after that, with all but his bow, which I had taken as my only token of him, who I am, and where I come from.

"Ok. let's do it" I conceded that knowing I had died as I had lived, free and fighting to the last had a strange, sort of morbid, attraction to me. The plan began to take shape, to be put into action the next time we had horses, to make a faster get away.

-–-—-

When we got back, the rest of the men were practicing knife throwing. It was difficult, deadly work.

"I'm so glad you took the time out of your busy schedule to visit my class" called Oberyn, our taskmaster, the sarcasm forcing laughs from the other warriors. He was a cruel man, hard as nails, devilish with a spear and ferocious with just about any other weapon. His hard glare silenced the men behind him, before turning back to us.

"As you are evidently so skilled with a knife give us a demonstration. Three knives, all in the centre, all thrown before the first one hits. Oh, and the target is fifty metres away. If you fail you'll get fifty lashes from the cat, which has been heating up in the fire for a good half hour now." I knew I was screwed. Hitting the target in the centre from that kind of distance I was chancy at, on top of the fact that I had to do it three times in quick succession. Areo could do it, and he would, so he'd only be given half the number of strikes.

Areo stepped up. Quick than a horse could run the distance, three knives were buried straight down the middle of the target. Oberyn went as far as a slow mocking clap, before calling me up to attempt the same. I rose, took my knives out of my belt, and readied my self. I threw the first in the right place, second a little out of the centre and the third was abysmal, missing the target completely. Oberyn's grin became obscene, knowing the damage he could do to me now. He looked on and said

"For that terrible shot you will take both sets of lashes"

I mentally died. The fierce heat and pain of that damned whip was enough to reduce cold blooded assassins to tears. I prepared myself as I walked over to the blocks. My hands were strapped up to the post and a leather bit was placed in my mouth, to stop the screaming. The count began, 1... Snap! The heat burned nine lines of fire across my back, the blood streaming in red rivulets onto the gravel below. 2… And again my back exploded in pain. After the third strike I lost consciousness, not permanently enough to stop feeling, but enough for my body to think it had release. One thought drove me through that afternoon, not the sound of my flesh being slapped, not the taste of the leather against my screams, but the idea that soon we could get away and if we met on the battlefield I would slay him.


End file.
